Underdone Undertongued Lung Long Frontmen
by The Brat Prince
Summary: The part that is forever emblazoned inside of him, written across the surface of his heart, is the moment James says, "You'll never want anybody as much as you want me," and how the complete confidence of the words makes Kendall actually believe it.


**Underdone, Undertongued, Lung Long Frontmen**

A/N: Birthday fic for Courtneeeeey. Initially uploaded to this site on February 14, 2012, but then taken down because of my no-smut on this site spree. Obviously that lasted well. Originally author's notes: Once upon a time, in a far away land, **breila_rose** decided she wanted fic about Kendall in suspenders. This was, of course, shortly following the BTR concert at Six Flags in New Jersey, where Kendall _wore_ suspenders. I take a while to get going, okay? This fic is now and forevermore dedicated to **breila_rose**, birthday girl extraordinaire, who is the best concert buddy a girl could ask for. MAJOR credit goes to **jblostfan16**, who didn't blink an eye when I said HEY I NEED A BETA AT MIDNIGHT, HELP.

* * *

_There's this kid in Kendall's class, and he's a pain in the butt. _

His name is James Diamond, and on the first day of kindergarten, he tells Kendall his finger-painting is ugly. When the teacher tries to tell James that it's a mean thing to say, he throws an epic tantrum.

He is such a crybaby.

James lives in a big house down the street, and his mom and dad drive a fancy car, and Kendall's dad says they're _rich_ like it's a bad word. He tells Kendall to stay away from that Diamond boy, which Kendall does, because he doesn't like James much at all.

But James just won't leave Kendall alone. Another time, Kendall's trying to read the _Legend of the Indian Paintbrush_, which is by far his favorite book in the whole wide world. He hears footsteps approach, and he ignores them because hello, duh, reading, but-

"What's that?" James asks.

Inwardly, Kendall groans. Outwardly, he grits out, "A book."

Something James has probably never even heard of. Which Kendall also says out loud, because there aren't any teachers listening in and because he mostly hates James's face.

"I know that," James scrunches up his nose. "Can I see?"

"No." Kendall hugs the book to his chest.

"Why not?"

"It's mine."

"Sharing is caring," James recites in a perfect approximation of their teacher. And then he tries to grab at it. James doesn't get a good grip on the edge of the book, catching only the edge, and when Kendall tries to snatch it back, the whole thing tears in half.

He is, understandably, angry. Especially when James bursts into tears like Kendall ripped his favorite book instead of the other way around. But when Kendall tries to tell Miss Teacher that later, she says kicking James in the shin wasn't an appropriate way to respond and that Kendall should _know better_.

All Kendall knows is that now he really, _really_ hates James. So he's not sure why he ends up saving him from a group of older kids during recess one day. In the beginning, Kendall is just watching, kicking his legs out on the swing, eyes glued to the scene like it's a TV show. It's almost funny, watching these second graders pick on James's girl-hair and his chubby legs, but when James starts crying like he always does, Kendall stops being amused. From across the blacktop, James looks small and weak and scared, and it tugs at some fiercely protective urge inside of Kendall that he didn't even know was there.

He stomps on one of the second grader's feet and pulls the other's hair so hard that a tuft comes out, all soft and fruity smelling in Kendall's hand. The two of them aren't exactly the stuff real bullies are made of, both pale and scrawny and not used to getting hurt. They run away screaming bloody murder, and Kendall knows that he's going to get in more trouble than he did when he poured finger paint in Carlos Garcia's lunchbox, but it's kind of worth it.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," James wails, closing his tiny arms around Kendall's middle, and it makes Kendall a little uncomfortable because his dad says that men aren't supposed to hug, and besides, James is kind of cutting off all of his air. But at the same time, it makes him feel warm inside, like he did something really good.

Kendall decides that maybe James isn't so bad.

_Liking_ James, though, isn't something that Kendall plans on doing. He is arrogant and self-serving and by the time they're in first grade he is always stealing the cookies from Kendall's lunchbox. But James is also surprisingly kind, and funny, and he has these moments where he looks at Kendall like maybe he is the greatest person in the whole wide universe. It's hard not to get sucked in by that.

They start hanging out with Carlos at the very beginning of second grade, and by then he's totally forgiven Kendall for that whole finger paint thing. And James is totally nice to Carlos, way nicer than he ever is to Kendall, so nice that it almost makes Kendall jealous. Then, over fruit snacks at lunch, watching Carlos try to scale the jungle gym, James turns to Kendall. His eyes narrow, and through the slits James's irises almost look reptilian. He says, "I like Carlos."

And Kendall says, "I know."

"I like him, but-" James pauses, chews a fruit snack, swallows. He then continues thoughtfully, "You'll never have a friend who's better than me. You know that, right?"

"Sure." Kendall shrugs.

When it comes to James, it's always easiest to just agree.

* * *

In middle school, things start getting strange. James grows taller, fills out a little bit. He figures out how to hold his tongue when he's talking to people, how to hide the spoiled brat of a boy behind a sweeter façade. Girls begin looking in his direction, giggling behind the back of their hand, and it isn't in a mean way.

In a word, James blossoms.

It helps that he joins the school choir and suddenly the whole town discovers that he's got this talent. Kendall's always known about it, of course. James breathes songs and melodies. He only really loves the things he can catch in his throat and hold there, a single long note that rings out in the air and the curlicue shape of music twisting around his fingers. But now everyone else knows too.

And Kendall doesn't blame them for admiring it. Sometimes it's so easy to forget that James really is flesh and blood and not something more, not stardust or a dream or stage lighting in the approximate silhouette of a boy. James has got a destiny that clings to him, and everybody knows it. Out of nowhere, he becomes this local legend.

Nobody is immune to it.

Even Kendall, who can see past the glitter and knows the depths of James's sweetness, the hard outer shell of him and gooey chocolate middle.

Falling for James isn't something he wants at all. James is narcissistic and selfish, and sometimes he tries to steal girls that Kendall likes right out from under his nose. But he is also generous, when no one's looking, and clever when he wants to be, and sometimes he looks at Kendall like maybe he is the coolest kid in their whole damn town. How is he supposed to ignore that?

Kendall tries, for a while, batting away the honeyed note of longing he feels whenever James is near, because James is flighty and flaky and likes _girls_. Tall girls, short girls, skinny girls, curvy girls, girls with short hair and girls with curls and girls with lips that pout like cupid's bow, and eyes that sting like his arrows. James makes no secret of his newfound hobby, and he gets girls in a way that Kendall never has. Maybe that's why he manages to woo so many of Kendall's crushes away, until Kendall has no one left to focus on _except_ James.

He's only human. He knows that his chances with James are like catching a falling star between his fingers; impossible. But god, Kendall imagines that he might be able to anyway.

It's an ache deep in his stomach, a kind of love that no one ever told Kendall about. It makes him feel insane, the longing that muddles his thinking and the want that churns his insides. And it gets even worse in their first year of high school, when James starts dating in earnest.

He's almost callous about it, in a way. James picks up girl after girl and then leaves each and every one of them behind with tear-stained faces and a whole lot of rage. It's not that he doesn't care. James isn't completely inhuman. He isn't a monster. He's just got better things to worry about than the feelings of flighty girls, and sometimes he doesn't realize that what he does hurts until it's too late.

And, like most little boys who are confident in their looks but no so confident in themselves, James thinks he's easy to get over. He thinks all the girls whose hearts he's broken go on to find happiness elsewhere, even if it's a fantasy.

That's how Kendall tries to see it, anyway. The girls in question call James soulless, but Kendall can't believe that. More than anything in the world, James loves music, and no one who loves songs and lyrics and melodies so strongly and so deeply can live without a soul.

James, for his part, doesn't do much to support his defense.

On a Friday night towards the end of their freshmen year, James heaves himself back on the couch with a groan. "Girls are stupid."

"Yeah," Kendall agrees, even though he doesn't have anything against girls. It's usually better to agree with James when he's in a mood. And he is very much in a mood; James looks pissier than the gray sky, threatening a downpour at any second. "What did you do?"

Crossly, James lifts his head and demands, "Why do you automatically presume I did something?"

Kendall cocks an eyebrow.

James rolls his eyes. "I broke up with Clara."

"And by broke up you mean…?" James never _breaks up_ with anyone. He prefers to take more passive aggressive routes. Like ignoring phone calls or changing his relationship status on Scuttlebutter to _single_.

"I mean I broke up with her. Kind of."

"Kind of?"

James sighs and thumbs through the channels on the TV, not really seeing them. He says, "I told her she'd be better off dating that dude on the chess club because he looks like he'd be into never getting laid. And then she slapped me and called me a pig." James rubs his cheek. "It still hurts."

Kendall tries really hard not to laugh.

He fails really hard. James looks completely offended.

"What?" Kendall counters. "You are a pig."

James settles on some old black and white movie about spies who seem to enjoy making out more than the average citizen. He sets the remote down on the couch and crosses his arms. "I was trying to be nice. I'm too hot to be tied down with a girl who doesn't appreciate it."

"And by appreciate it you mean-"

"-put her hands all over me," he explains with a grin.

"She's an idiot," Kendall states with equal parts exasperation and earnestness. James is a jackass, but he is a gorgeous jackass. Kendall knows it's wrong, but he privately thinks anyone who doesn't take advantage of that really is a moron.

"All I want is sex without strings. Messy feelings are so _messy_."

"Well said."

"Your mockery is not helping."

"Sorry. How can I help?" Kendall throws James a lazy grin. On screen, the lover-spies start stripping down, clothes falling by the wayside. Their skin is shadows and light, a cool contrast to the warmth and color of Kendall's room and the close comfort of their friendship.

"I don't know." James moans. "Want to give me a blowjob?"

He's joking. Of course, he's joking.

But that doesn't stop Kendall from choking on his own spit.

"Dude, are you okay?" James is kneeling in seconds, pounding on Kendall's back, eyes bright with concern. "I was just fucking with you."

"I know," Kendall wheezes. "Duh."

James is too close, looming in between Kendall's legs, up in his face. It's really, really making it hard for Kendall to concentrate on important stuff, like breathing. James asks again, "Are you okay?"

Kendall stutters out a breath, meeting James's eyes. "I'm super." He shoves at James's shoulder. "Back up? It's hard to- um. You're in my personal bubble."

James scoots back a little, hurt flooding his expression. He's quick to cover it, always playing the cool card, even when it's just the two of them. His face is schooled, but his voice shakes when he repeats, "I was kidding."

"Hey, yeah. I know." Kendall reiterates, but he doesn't exactly sound convincing. James isn't quick on the uptake when it comes to a lot of things, but he can tell when Kendall is hiding something.

Shit.

He makes these faces that Kendall knows mean he's thinking, which is forever a dangerous thing. He sounds it out, "Unless, I mean…you don't want me to be joking. You really want to- to-"

James's voice tapers out.

Kendall tries to gather up some coherent thoughts, ones that don't involve rude four letter words. "I don't…"

"You _do_!" James crows, almost sounding triumphant about it. "Why are you trying to lie?"

"You're so full of yourself." Kendall rolls his eyes and tries to look like he knows what the hell he's talking about.

"You want me."

"I don't."

James is too close now. Kendall can taste him on his lips. He's trying so damn hard not to let it get to him, but there is a hot feeling low in his stomach, like being punched, the ache and the flinch of nerves on fire, and also like lust, like a hollow space that he needs filled. It is an uncomfortable cross between the electric magnetism of desire and the unbearable resentment that James can do this to him. It ties Kendall into knots.

"No, but, you do," James repeats, and he has the nerve to sound a little awed about it, like he's never actually considered that he's sexy enough to seduce the whole wide world with a look. Kendall doesn't buy that for a second. James is a beautiful bastard of a boy, and he knows it.

He's got both hands on Kendall's knees, creeping up his inseams, hot against his thighs. He lowers his voice, coaxes, "Come on, Kendall. You want it. Kiss me."

Kendall recoils. He will not be bullied into admitting the feelings he's been carrying around for years now, not even if James is looking at him like _that_, eyes blazing like he is trying to immolate Kendall with his gaze alone.

It's working; there is a fever burning over the surface of his skin. It takes all the willpower in Kendall's possession not to reach out and grab him. Thou shalt not take advantage of horny bros; there is definitely a code about that.

"You want this. You want this," James insists, and fuck, yes, Kendall's never wanted anything more.

Still. He can't. He pleads with James with his eyes, begging in a way that Kendall will never be able to do out loud, but James completely ignores it. He leans forward and catches Kendall's lower lip between his teeth, and then he waits.

He waits and waits and waits until Kendall can't not kiss back, captured by James's mouth and his eyes and his closeness and his scent.

That night stands out in Kendall's memory not just for the kisses and the things that happen after, not the long stretch of skin or the noises James makes. The part that is forever emblazoned inside of him, written across the surface of his heart, is the moment James says, "You'll never want anybody as much as you want me," and how the complete confidence of the words makes Kendall actually believe it.

* * *

_There's this kid in Kendall's band, and he's a pain in the ass._

When Gustavo Rocque first enters the picture, James lights up like a lantern, his inner glow brighter than anything else in the room. Kendall does what he has to, begs and wheedles his next door neighbor into driving them to the theater. He knows James wants the world, and Kendall has long since decided that he will give him all of it. He will serve it up to James on a silver platter if he has to.

At this point, they've been hooking up for a while. It's just sex. Kendall knows that; they'll never be more than bros, childhood friends who occasionally use each other to get off. James has spent his entire life expecting this grandiose future, the fame and the supermodel trophy wife and the ridiculous mansion. Kendall will not ruin that for him with his feelings. No matter how much Kendall wants their relationship to mean more, it won't, _can't_, doesn't.

So he channels all of that into working to make James's dreams come true, and he thinks he's doing a pretty good job until Gustavo stomps all over James's psyche in his ridiculous track suit. Asshole. James has got more talent than any one of those showbiz types. When he is in a crowd, he is electric, jumping from idea to idea, sparkling, shimmering energy on his fingers and his lips. He makes everyone stop and stare. Gustavo just made him nervous, or something.

James isn't crushed by the rejection; not at first. He's got that dazed, confused look on his face that he wears whenever someone refuses to acknowledge his awesome. But Kendall's already there, already raging mad at this fat sloth of a man, because he knows it's coming.

He knows that James will crumple.

So Kendall saves the day. How can he not?

That sort of backfires on him, though. Gustavo acts like becoming a popstar is the be-all and end-all, and he doesn't get why Kendall isn't jumping up and down like he's won the life-lottery. And Kendall, personally, doesn't get why everyone's so mad at him for not caring. He's got everything he needs, from his buds to his hockey team. He doesn't want to be some famous dickhole who sells his soul just so he can sing _girl-I-love-you-ooh-girl-baby-baby-girl _for all of La La Land. Kendall's got _scruples_.

But he's also got it bad for James, who spends the whole next day treating him like he's trying to mastermind the death of rock. Kendall knows that he's screwed in a major way no matter what he does. If he leaves, James will hate him. If he stays, James will hate him even more. Either way, Kendall will end up feeling James's absence, like he's missing a lung.

He's been raised to be clever, to think that there's always a way to beat the house if he just digs deep enough. And there _is_. Kendall does it again, saves the day by manipulating them all into a boy band. Like that's even a thing that anyone will ever want to listen to.

It's worth it, though. The moment they book their tickets to LAX, James looks at him with this expression of pure, radiant joy.

Plus, LA is kind of wonderful for their sex life. There are nights when James comes to him, hair soaked through with starlight, drunk off his ass. He will lay his firebrand hands across Kendall's heart to see if he can make it race, if he can make a new kind of music burgeon inside of his chest.

He's always successful.

But over time, everything that is new and shiny about LA starts to fade. Kendall suffers through a relationship that doesn't end the way he wanted it to, and when he comes out the other side James is still standing there, waiting with his arms and his lips and his superstar smile.

Loving him is still exquisite torture.

James isn't happy in relationships. He hates being pinned down, like a butterfly stuck to a board. And Kendall wants him to always, always be happy when they're together. Because James's smile is brilliant, and his happiness is contagious, and because he can't actually handle James when he's miserable. It hurts.

Being alone- all the time- also hurts. Kendall is just so used to going after what he wants, and he _can't_ go after James in earnest. He won't saddle him with all this complicated bullshit.

It's not James's fault he won't ever feel the same way.

Kendall will never say so out loud, but he's sick and tired, and he doesn't want anything to do with it anymore; not the love that has a vice-like grip on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs, and not the jealousy that twists inside of his bones, and not the lust that makes his pants feel hot and uncomfortable whenever James is around. He's so over being toyed with. He's so over being used.

That's what he tells himself, every single time.

That's the first thing he forgets whenever James quirks a smile his way. Because love and jealousy and lust are at the very core of his being, and Kendall has no way to deny that, not really.

He uses all of his tangled emotions the only way he knows how. Inspiration is a twitch in his fingers, tinged with sadness. He funnels it into his guitar, into chord progressions that are nothing like what he's worked on before. If nostalgia had a sound, it would be the thing that Kendall creates, that echoes in the still air of their apartment. It is a plea and a scream and an apology, all at once.

_I'm sorry I love you. _

_I hate you for not loving me back. _

_Please. Please. _Please_, try?_

James finds him like that, one day. He stands in the doorframe while Kendall finishes the bridge of his newest never-a-hit, a song that he tries to pretend is about Jo, but is more likely about how he keeps waiting for the day that James will turn around and say _It's you_.

Like he ever will.

When the melody tapers out, James announces in a flat voice, "That sucked."

"Yeah?" Kendall isn't insulted. He's so beyond used to James's blunt opinions, so captivated by the curve of his lips when he enunciates the word _sucked_.

"I don't like songs that hurt," James says for clarification. He shuffles from foot to foot.

"Why?"

"Because they _hurt_." He is looking at Kendall, but he is also looking through Kendall, and that wasn't really any kind of explanation at all.

Kendall wants to ask what exactly it is that James Diamond knows about hurting. Instead he sets his guitar aside and asks, "Did you want something?"

James frowns at him, this dark, uncertain thing. It is almost reptilian, but it vanishes as quick as it came. James shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Studio. Gustavo's got some big announcement."

"Alright." Kendall fiddles with the sleeve of his button down, taps his fingers against the wayward guitar's strings. James just stands there, and the gesture isn't awkward. He's watching Kendall with the same hungry, penetrating look he always gets when he wants… "How long?"

"He said he's sending the car in twenty minutes." James takes a step forward, and then another, and then a third, with all the grace of a skipping stone.

"Twenty minutes. That's a long time," Kendall sounds out. The words are metallic on his tongue. James shrugs, boneless.

"And your mom's out. Katie too." James tilts his head, smile like a secret. "This shirt is ugly," He says, reaching out to touch the shoulder of it. Then he tugs, hard, ripping the seams. "Oops."

Kendall rolls his eyes.

James hasn't changed since kindergarten.

* * *

Turns out, Gustavo wants to make a very specific announcement. "Kendall. Just the person I wanted to see!"

He is bright.

He is cheerful.

He is scaring Kendall.

A lot.

"What did you _do_?"

Gustavo raises his hands, mock innocence written all over his face. "Why do you automatically assume I did something?"

"Because you did! Didn't you?" Kendall crosses his arms and tries to look authoritative. He's doing his exact imitation of his mom when she's mad.

Gustavo slumps over in his seat and begins rubbing his temples. "Fine. Kendall, you're Griffin's personal assistant for the next month."

Kendall takes a second to process that. Carlos dissolves into laughter that he hides behind his hand.

Another second ticks by. Logan hits Carlos in the kidneys. He fills the tense silence of the studio with whimpers of owowowow_ow_.

A third second passes. Kendall can feel James's breath on the back of his neck. For some reason, that's what spurs him into action. He yelps, "Excuse me?"

Gustavo yawns, assuming the posture of someone who is totally unconcerned. "You. Personal assistant. Coffee toting, note taking, personal assistant."

"No," Kendall replies, outraged, eyes bugging out.

There is a quick intake of breath and then, "Yeah, see, you don't have a choice."

"Of course I have a choice!"

"Nope. I lost a bet." Gustavo doesn't actually look even remotely sorry about it.

"What's that have to do with me?"

"We wagered you. And Obdul." Gustavo sighs. "I really wanted Obdul.

Kendall's lips thin. He puts on his game face, all prepared for a dramatic speech. "Gustavo, I'm a person. You can't bet people!"

"Technically, _Griffin_ can do whatever he wants. He owns us. No, really." Gustavo pulls out a contract and hisses, "He _owns_ us."

Kendall thinks he may have a heart attack. Can a person have a heart attack in their teens? Because he totally is.

"Relax." Logan squeezes his arm. He murmurs, "It's only for a month."

Kendall shakes him off. "What did you even bet on?"

Gustavo mumbles something.

"What?"

Gustavo mumbles again.

"_What_?"

The third time, he's perfectly clear.

Kendall is possibly going to murder him. "Wait, wait, wait. You bet about how long Mercedes could keep a boyfriend?"

"I thought I'd win. Who knew she and that smelly stoner would last _a year_? You boys are obviously defective." The record producer glares like it's Kendall's fault that Griffin's daughter is a total nutcase.

"Hey! I learned how to bake," Carlos objects.

Logan agrees, "You make really great cookies now."

"Guys. You're not helping!" Kendall says, spazzing for real now. James has a hand at the back of his neck, and he's massaging the place where Kendall's pulse is jumping angrily in his throat.

He manages to hang onto that anger long enough to harangue Gustavo for a good ten minutes before he runs out of steam. Because, um, he's so screwed. He can't work for Griffin for a month. He _can't_.

Kendall is practically comatose as his friends guide him out of the studio. He's quiet in the car, and quiet on his way up to 2J, and it's not until James steers him into his bedroom and closes the door behind the both of them with a click that Kendall is able to manage, "Gustavo sold me out."

"Don't be a baby," James instructs, smoothing his hands up and down Kendall's arms.

Kendall scowls, mutters, "This is serious. Griffin's going to fly me out to Bratislava and _shoot me in the head_."

James snorts. "Why would he do that?"

"He hunts humans, James." James toys with the hem of Kendall's t-shirt before pulling it decisively over Kendall's head. Kendall allows him to, his arms falling limply back at his sides. The cool air of his room makes his nipples stand at attention, his skin ripple with goose bumps, but he ignores it. James is not appreciating the gravity of the matter. He emphasizes, "For fun, James."

James begins working open the buckle of Kendall's belt, and Kendall whines, "Like it's a sport, James."

James tugs off his belt, letting it slot through each loop until it's free. He wraps it around the back of Kendall's neck and tugs him in close, eyes dancing. "How can I make it better?"

"You can't," Kendall replies, pouting a little. James's big hands twine in the leather, and he drags Kendall even closer, until their chests are touching. The graphic on the front of James's tee sticks to Kendall's skin.

"You sure?" Kendall tries not to concentrate on the hard press of James's body, the warmth of his skin or the taste of his breath or the smell of his hair products and cologne, but he's only human. James has been his one constant wet dream since middle school, and with each passing day, he gets sexier, more beautiful. Now he's trying to distract Kendall with all of that, with his ridiculous, gorgeous face and his mouth and his fingers, and who is Kendall to deny him? James is his fantasy-boy, no matter how many times that fantasy gets fulfilled.

"You don't play fair," Kendall accuses, and James smirks, like, _I know_. He lets go of the belt and drops to his knees, rubbing his thumbs down the shape of Kendall's cock through his jeans.

"I like it when you get all worked up about nothing. It's more fun for me."

"Sucking me off is not fun for you," Kendall says dubiously.

James licks his lips and quirks an eyebrow in challenge. "Is that what you think?"

He breathes hot on the front of Kendall's boxers, and shit, shit, Kendall is acutely aware that his mom and Katie and Logan and Carlos are right down the hall. James pops the button of Kendall's Levi's and pulls the zipper down slow, building anticipation. He is such a showman, even when all Kendall wants is for him to stop fucking around and just-

He hisses when James tongue darts out, wet against the fabric of his boxers, damp heat that he can feel even through the plaid print. Kendall reaches down, trailing his index finger along the line of James's jaw. "You're a tease."

In reply, James wraps his lips around the head of Kendall's cock, boxers and all, sucks it into his mouth until all Kendall can feel is wet. He curses, and James grins like the cheeky bastard he is. Finally, slow as can be, he tongues Kendall's dick out of the slit in his shorts, swirling his tongue around the head.

"James," Kendall gets out, his voice high and throaty and nervous.

"Just relax," James commands, pushing Kendall's pants and boxers down to his knees. He licks his lips again and fondles Kendall's balls, pressing a kiss to the base of his cock. His fingertips are points of electricity against Kendall's thighs. Kendall whines a bit until James draws his dick into his mouth, painstakingly unhurried about it, licking along the length of him as he goes.

James is a superstar with his mouth, clever, peerless; like he is with everything else he sets his mind to. It's ridiculous how much Kendall loves him, how much he lives for moments likes this. He keeps waiting for the day that James will leave him behind; he knows it is coming. It is an icy prickle, like fingers on the back of his neck. But every day, James hides behind the rest of them, refusing to shine without his boys by his side. And it makes no sense, this constant submission, this constant fear. James is bright, more brilliant than the sun. It is only right that one day he will outshine them all, that he will leave them alone, breathing in the remnants of his stardust.

But for now, he only breathes Kendall, lets Kendall fuck between his lips, hands pushing the hair out of James's eyes. All he wants to see is James's bloodstone gaze, focused, determined, a little bit brazen. With those _recherché_ eyes trained on him, that superlative tongue hot against the underside of his dick, Kendall loses all sense of where he is, of what he's doing. He comes with a shout, hot down the back of James throat.

James swallows like a pro, like it's a shot of tequila instead of the warm, salty taste of Kendall.

Kendall stumbles back, collapsing on his bed. He thinks he could sleep a million years now, forget everything except sleep and James, James, who burns like a meteor crashing through his veins.

"That good, hmm?" James wipes a hand over the back of his mouth, licks Kendall off his own skin, the ridges and valleys of his fingers. He scoots up onto the bed with Kendall, dropping his head in his lap. "Want to watch a movie?"

"Wait, uh, don't you have a date or something tonight?"

James's expression darkens. He lifts Kendall's hand and sucks one of his fingertips into his mouth, lathers the skin with his tongue, nips ever-so-light. "No. Just you. That okay?"

Despite himself, Kendall feels a smile breaking over his face like dawn rising. He doesn't mean to look so happy about it, about having James all to himself, but it's rare. He feels like he lives in the twenty to thirty minute intervals James deigns to spend in his presence, and he's almost always required to put out. He likes it when he gets to have James all to himself, even if it's just for the night.

He will take whatever he can get.

* * *

Kendall has to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to go to the RCM CBT Globalnet Sanyoid offices. He disentangles himself from James's long limbs carefully, trying his hardest not to wake him. Sleep makes him clumsy. He jabs James in the thigh with his knee, hits him in the solar plexus with his elbow.

Oops.

James cracks an eyelid and mumbles grumpily, "_Ow_."

"Sorry," Kendall whispers.

"You did that on purpose," James says, just to be contrary.

"Didn't," Kendall insists. "Go back to sleep. I've got to go."

He pulls on the nearest pair of jeans he can find, dark denim with no holes that he's only worn once so far, and digs through the closet until he finds a comfy green plaid shirt.

James is on his feet in seconds. "Absolutely not."

"What?"

"You can't wear that to an actual job."

"I wear it to our actual job all the time."

"Singing isn't a job," James says airily. "It's fun."

"That's not what you say when Gustavo makes us do harmonies for eight hours," Kendall grumbles, trying to be quiet. The walls are so freaking thin.

"Right, come to my room," James orders, already out the door. He doesn't even seem to care that he's clad in boxers and nothing else, and Kendall watches his ass all the way down the hall.

Of course, his interest in James's assets wanes when he sees what James actually wants him to wear.

"This wasn't part of the deal," Kendall says, horrified.

James wiggles the rather dapper blazer, hanger and all, at him. "You can't be anyone's personal assistant wearing jeans."

"It's Griffin."

"Griffin's a CEO."

"You don't even know what CEO stands for."

"Yeah I do," James huffs, "Chief Excellent Opossum, or something. _Details_. You have to wear nice clothes."

"The suspenders?" Kendall asks, skeptically.

"Suspenders are nice. Classy," James adds. "Don't look so concerned." He pats Kendall on the butt.

Kendall stares dubiously down at the outfit. He picks up the suspenders, dangles them over the drawer James pulled them from, which also houses lime green fuzzy handcuffs and a myriad of other things Kendall can't actually identify. He says, "Yeah, no. This concerns me. Why do you keep your suspenders in here?"

"I'm economizing. Now get dressed. Chop, chop."

Kendall sighs, but obediently pulls on the trousers and starched shirt, the suspenders and the blazer that goes over it all. "I look like a cater-waiter."

James grins, tilts his head, critical. He tugs at the collar of Kendall's shirt, adjusting it almost unconsciously. The brush of his fingertips against Kendall's skin is painful.

Kendall simmers with resentment.

Kendall simmers with want.

"Are you sure about this outfit? It's possible you're wrong."

James makes a face. With absolute certainty, he replies, "No, no, I don't think so."

Kendall sighs. "You know, if you were a good friend, you'd take my place with Griffin."

"Yeah, no, blow me," James suggests happily. He plants a big, wet kiss on Kendall's mouth and says, "Go get 'em, tiger."

Then he promptly crawls into his bed, due to be dead to the world until noon. Agh.

Kendall hates Gustavo.

* * *

"Oh, it's you. With the face. And that unfortunate eye thing. Didn't you date my daughter?"

Kendall frowns, trying to see what exactly Griffin means by unfortunate eye thing. It doesn't work out, seeing as his eyes remain attached to his face and everything. But Griffin looks mighty amused, so there's that. "You were expecting me, right? 'Cause I could leave."

"No, no, I like a good servant." Griffin cocks his head to the side. He wields a pen in mid-air, a gunmetal weapon in his hand. "And a snazzy dresser at that. Nice suspenders."

"Uh. Thanks. So. Um. What do you need me to do…?"

He ends up wishing he never asked. Kendall has good work ethic, having held one odd job or another since he was fourteen. But Griffin makes him feel less like an employee and more like a golden retriever, made to dance and fetch at a whim. His duties include making lattes, carrying around a tray of warm pants, and taking Mercedes's pet teacup dog to the taxidermist. Poor Princess Fluffykiins.

The sky is lit with an indigo glow when Kendall finally makes his way out of Griffin's office. Everyone else has already left, and his body aches all over. Who even knew fetching coffee (and carrying pants, and stuffing dead animals) could be such a grueling work? He dangles the dumb blazer over his shoulders, suspenders cutting into his shoulders.

So basically, he's less than pleased to see James standing by a road sign, looking better than sin, and obviously _up to something_. "How was work? Griffin a good boss?"

"That would require he have something. I believe they call it a soul," Kendall deadpans.

"You poor thing," James says, and he sounds completely unsympathetic. He leans in for a kiss, turns it deep almost immediately, ravishing Kendall's mouth like it's his to conquer.

Kendall shoves him away. "Geez. Wait until we get home."

Flush against his body, James purrs, "I want it now."

"You are such a slut."

"You like that," he mumbles, insistent, rubbing up against Kendall. They're in the middle of the street, where anybody can see, but Kendall gives into it because he can't not. James is always like this, audacious to the point of recklessness. And Kendall likes that, needs that, needs James to get him out of his head when he's taking this whole leader thing too seriously. James snaps one of the suspenders off of his back, says, "Kendall, kiss me."

Kendall does, obedient, forever committed to giving James exactly what he wants. Which doesn't mean he doesn't choke when James says, "Fuck me in Griffin's office."

"You- _what_?" Kendall asks, lips spit-wet.

"Look, don't you want to stick it to Griffin?"

Kendall arches an eyebrow, his whole face writ with skepticism. "I don't see how sticking it to you will help."

"Whatever, turn your butt around," James orders, directing Kendall right back into the office. He lifts his key card obediently. Inside, Kendall waves to the security guard, says, "I forgot something. Do you mind if I just run back up?"

"Who's your friend?"

"He's in the band." Kendall points to a picture of Big Time Rush that hangs near the entrance, between posters for fish sticks and flat screen TVs.

The guard does not look impressed. "He'll have to stay here."

"Come on." Kendall groans.

"What, I'm good company," the guard responds.

"I don't doubt it, but dude, let it slide?"

"Only because you make a good latte."

"Joy." Kendall rolls his eyes. "Another life skill to add to my resume."

James swats him on the back of his head. "Be nice."

Kendall tries very hard to look like a nice boy, one who would never bang on his boss's desk. He's not sure if he succeeds, but the guard waves him on into the elevator.

From Griffin's office, LA is a string of lights, a distant glow like lanterns and stars. James doesn't waste any time at all, pinning Kendall against Griffin's desk and fitting their hips together. He rubs against him, tantalizing. He makes Kendall moan, makes him forget that they're grinding against each other with the watching eyes of Griffin's animal tribe trained on their every move. Kendall blunders around with the front of James's jeans, and he is rewarded with a gasp when he manages to get his fingers where he wants them.

"Fuck, you look hot in these," James snaps the suspenders again, panting into Kendall's neck. Kendall twists his fingers along James's dick, getting vindictive pleasure from the way his face contorts, blissed out and lost. "You can fuck me," he mumbles, shoving his pants down. "I want you to fuck me."

"Why are you being nice to me?" Kendall asks. "Usually you want me to bend over."

James grins, "Because you look so good taking it." Then he turns solemn and says, "Special circumstances. Come on, my offers going once, going twice…"

Kendall shoves down James's jeans, bends him over the desk and kisses the base of his spine, tongue licking down, down, the salt-sweat taste of James's skin sharp on his tongue. He flicks his tongue in and out of him, dips and thrusts and teases until James won't have any more of it. He tugs Kendall to his feet, muttering, "I don't need foreplay. I need you."

He palms a hand over Kendall's dick, like he's checking to make sure that he's turned on. Like there's some realm of possibility Kendall wouldn't be when he's got James wrecked and willing, practically begging for it. He spreads himself apart for Kendall, spit still glistening against his asshole. "Do it already."

And Kendall does, ripping open the front of his stupid dress trousers and wetting his own dick as much as he can with saliva before slotting inside of James like he belongs there. He watches the play of lights in LA spread out before them, cracks jokes into the place where James's neck and shoulder connect to get him comfortable with it, even though this definitely isn't even close to either of their first times. Spit never makes the best lube.

The moment it changes between them, goes from careful handling to mischievous laughter to tangible passion, thick and irresistible in the air, it is like a lightning strike. James reaches back and twines their fingers together, pulls Kendall flush to his back so that every pump of his hips is shallow, but somehow the constraint and limitation makes it equally as satisfying. Kendall cannot escape James's tight, hot body or his overpowering presence. The suspenders dig into his shoulder blades, make him remember that he's still fully dressed while beneath him James sings, a private concert that echoes back from every angle of Griffin's office, sounds sweeter to Kendall's ears than anything he's ever done for a live audience.

Kendall wraps an arm around James's middle, uses their interlaced fingers to grasp the thick weight of James's cock, guiding him through slow strokes that make James whimper and go pliant in his arms. He feels like a burning star, like Kendall is holding an unstable element that may or may not explode. James bucks and writhes, his hand and Kendall's fumbling over his own cock, tugging hard. He keens high in his throat, mumbles, "Kendall, dude, _Kendall._"

One moment they are both perched at the edge of it, and the next there is cum seeping into the heartline of Kendall's hand, pooling against the knolls of his palm. He rides it out until he can't, collapsing on top of James in a flood of warmth that ends up trickling down James's thighs when Kendall pulls out.

"That was, um. Yeah," Kendall exhales, breath ragged. There is cum amalgamating on a stack of Griffin's paperwork, white and wet, and James doesn't look remotely bothered by it.

He turns on Kendall, pants still around his ankles, cock softening, and he says, "Dude. Say you're in love with someone since you first figured out what love is. What do you do? Do you tell that person?"

Kendall's response is immediate. "Absolutely."

It's only a beat later that he realizes there is weight in those words. James maybe loves someone. Someone who is probably not Kendall.

California shimmers in the distance, beyond those windows, but James shimmers more. He grabs his jeans, yanks them up, and bites out, "I'm not like you. I'm not brave."

"I'm not all that brave either." Kendall admits. "But James, you should- you deserve to be happy."

"I don't think I'm ready to be happy. Not just yet. Ignorance is bliss." He shrugs.

"Ignorance is ignorance." Kendall snorts. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"I want it to be a surprise." James looks at him, and at first Kendall thinks the expression he wears is completely alien, one that has never graced James's face before and probably never will again.

Except, no, maybe he's wrong. It takes him a minute, but he recognizes that this is the dark look he's been catching from the corner of his eyes, that thing Kendall has never been able to pinpoint. And he can see why it eluded him; James is lovesick and desperate, naked want and vulnerability laid bare. Kendall's heart is in his throat. "Even from me?"

Humorlessly, James smiles. "Especially from you."

And despite himself, Kendall allows himself to hope. "I can wait. You'll tell me someday, right?"

James smiles, nods, and he is the most breathtaking thing this shitty town has ever seen. He is sunlight and dreams, stardust and possibilities, and sometimes he looks at Kendall like he's the sexiest guy in the world, even after he mocks everything in Kendall's closet.

He's kind of irresistible.

Maybe one day he will whisper, "You'll never love anyone the way you love me," and Kendall will agree, wholeheartedly, because that is the phrase he keeps waiting to hear.

* * *

_There's this man in Kendall's life, and he's a pain in the ass. _

It doesn't stop Kendall from loving him back, desperately.


End file.
